The Republican Fiction Project

Now that we have settled in a bit, I thought it appropriate to introduce you to the Republican Fiction team, we have posted our bios on our Meet the Editors page.

The first thing you are going to notice is that we don’t use our real names. We are no novice group when it comes to navigating the complex systems of tubes or “web” that is the internet, so we are well aware of the sick predators that are out there waiting to break into our homes and have sex with us. While each of us has an ample supply of ammo, several of us had to leave our guns in storage. Why? you ask.

Well, I am glad you asked. It’s because the hippies running the city of Washington DC have trampled on our rights and banned gun ownership in the city. No, I am not kidding. The citizens of Washington DC have been left to defend themselves against murderers and rapists with rocks and sticks. Earth to hippies, the Constitution lives right in your town at the National Archives. Stop by and give it a read sometime. The Supreme Court is going to hear this nonsense out soon and give us the right to put a bullet in the head of anyone who steps foot in our castles. In the mean time, we will keep our pen names.

Any-who, we have posted our bios on our Meet the Editors page so you can feel more comfortable letting our words into your home on your personal branch of the information super highway. We will be posting our pictures tomorrow.

Ding Dong! “What’s this I hear ? Did Tick Tock forget his keys to the office again whilst using the bathroom?” But nay, it was a negro man dressed in a brown prison-like uniform. (perhaps a prison of his shallow “do poor in school and not listen to his drug addict mother” up-bringing.) He had a brown paper-wrapped package hidden beneath his rather large arms. “You Reepublikin Ficty-on?” All five of us surrounding the door of our freshly painted offices to see what the negro had brought. I took the box in the least offensive way I could and made light chatter about beans and fried chicken legs while the rest of the gang opened the box. He left, but not before asking to use the bathroom. We sent him to the one down the hall that we knew you needed a key to get into, figuring that we would pretend not to be there if he knocked again. (He didn’t.)

Glory be thy name, the box was opened and before us were the contents of an online purchase from Staples. 5 staplers (what would you buy at a store named after a single product?), staple removers (one for each of the devices), Post-It notes, pens, an eraser for our dry erase board, (see below) and a package of dry erase pens (all red and blue, the board is white.)

After unloading our delights and calling security to make sure the black delivery man had found his way to the front door, we opened the American flag that had arrived earlier in the day–delivered by an Italian gentleman who smelled like garlic and onions. Our flag-raising ceremony was choreographed and we were ready to march past our portrait gallery, (Reagan, Lincoln, and Bush, so far) and deliver Old Glory to its final resting place on our balcony overlooking K St in Washington DC. That was when Jeremy (our slow assistant) unfolded the flag and let the lower right corner touch the ground!

Not to worry, we fired him on the spot. In fact, three of us fired him at the same time. It was pretty funny because the lower right corner of the American flag represents liberal states like Vermont. But it is the American flag, so he had to go. We couldn’t risk him burning it or doing some other unspeakable evil to the stars and stripes.

We also hung up a sweet dry erase board and went to lunch at the Old Ebbitt Grill. I could feel the conservative electricity flowing from George W. Bush, our President, who was no doubt enjoying an equally delicious lunch just a block away. His essence permeated the room. (I had the crab balls.) Let me tell you, more than a couple people stopped to look over the two American flags proudly resting upon my lapel. “That’s right ladies, there’s a new sheriff in town and it’s called Republican Fiction.”

Hollywood “out!”

We are still configuring our site and moving into our new Washington DC offices. Just yesterday we bought an entire box of paper and started putting together our new desks and bookshelves. There is something very satisfying about manual labor. For the life of me I can’t understand why people complain about it. Tomorrow morning we anticipate the delivery of our American flag and will have an elaborate installation ceremony. Unlike Barack Osama, we aren’t afraid of our flag. I personally wear two of them on my lapel.